


you are cordially invited to watch your ex walk down the aisle

by pmonkey816



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, One-Shot, i just love anya and indra so much, i think i failed again, i tried to write fluff again, wedding au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmonkey816/pseuds/pmonkey816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lexa and clarke's exes are getting married. to each other.</p>
<p>lexa and clarke's parents are meddling.</p>
<p>these two idiots don't stand a chance.</p>
<p>or, the we're-both-at-our-exes-weddings-and-my-mom-is-trying-to-set-us-up-so-i-stop-pining-over-her au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are cordially invited to watch your ex walk down the aisle

**Author's Note:**

> i found this half-written the other day and decided to finish it before work today. just a short, sweet lil one-shot. let me know what you think! and, of course, feel free to come talk to me on tumblr about my fics and just generally sort of scream about these two: pmonkey816.tumblr.com

“Oh, my god. Did your phone just vibrate _again_?”

 

Lexa laughs and shakes her head, trying to force some of the loose hair out of her face. “Let me check it quickly. Just to make sure nobody's dead and I didn't get fired.” She reaches into the pocket of her dress pants to try to retrieve her phone, but Costia tugs on her arm, stopping her.

 

“Lexxaaaaa.” Lexa loves Costia, but a few glasses of champagne and she whines like a toddler. “It's my wedding. Today's supposed to be about me, remember?” Costia extracts herself from Lexa's arms—where she'd been nestled while they danced to the bizarre Greek pop music Costia's extended family had insisted she play at the wedding—when Lexa frees her arm to pull out her phone again.

 

“It's my mom.” She says, flicking her eyes up at Costia, who just rolls her own back. She looks back down at her phone, scrolling through the eight messages she'd received in the last three minutes. “For fuck's sake.” She mutters. Then she sighs, looking back up into Costia's eyes again. “So, I guess she needs me to save her from someone at her table.”

 

“Oh, c'mon.” Costia keeps whining, grabbing Lexa by the shirt and tugging her closer again. “She can suffer a little longer. We had to put up with her most of our childhoods.” She starts to sway her hips in that way that had always entranced Lexa, ever since she realized she was gay at twelve, and—even worse—madly in love with her best friend.

 

There's a surge of something in her chest, a jumble of all those old feelings that rise back up. Bitter sadness, laughter, heat—all caught up in the middle so that Lexa can't tell where one ends and another begins. She swallows it down, along with the blush rising in her cheeks; laughs it off like it's nothing. She's gotten pretty good at that, now. “I'll only be gone a minute.”

 

“Fine.” Costia juts out her lip in protest but still relents, leaning in briefly to place a kiss to Lexa's cheek. “I should probably go find my husband, anyway.” She turns as she's walking away, grinning and shouting, “but don't be gone too long, I'm gonna have to spend three weeks alone with him after this because I'm fucking married!” That earns a cheer from some of their friends on the dance floor who are near enough to hear, and Costia gets swallowed up by the bodies congratulating her.

 

Lexa makes her way over to where her mom is seated and finds her slouched nonchalantly in her plastic folding chair, smirk permanently in place, one hand twirling the butter knife still on the table and the other draped over the back of the chair. Lexa can't see her face well enough to determine just what's going on in her mom's head, but the urgency of the text messages are making her nervous, and she _does_ have a knife in her hand. A dull knife, but she wouldn't be surprised if her mom could at least do some serious damage with it. Maybe gouge out an eye.

 

“Hey, Mom.” She says, coming to hover above her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She intends to add something to that, like 'how are you doing without me?' or 'is this the person you were gushing about in your texts?' or something else sarcastic to rile her up, but the words catch in her throat when she sees just who she was talking to. The girl is gorgeous, something out of a pinup calendar in the broad, sharp set of her face, the pretty eyes, the perfect pink lips, the little beauty mark just above them. Her dress shows more than it hides, coming up to rest just above her knee, dipping low to show off the girl's breasts in an elegantly simple blue dress.

 

“Finally!” Her mom huffs, turning to face her and smacking her lightly in the stomach. Well, lightly for her mom, which is like getting a bowling ball dropped onto you by most people's standards. “What took you so long?”

 

Lexa frowns, rubs at her stomach and answers petulantly, “I was dancing with CC.”

 

Her mom waves it off with a brush of her hand, and turns back to the people she'd been talking to—the ones she supposedly needs rescuing from. “Anyway, I wasn't exaggerating. She's gorgeous, right?” She looks over at Lexa and a little smile plays on the corner of her lips when she continues, “successful, too.”

 

“Yes, absolutely stunning.” Another woman who Lexa had hardly even noticed—an older brunette—turns to the young woman sitting next to her. “Isn't she, Clarke?”

 

“Mom, no.” Realization sinks into Lexa's skin and stains it, and she wants to run but she's already been marked. There's no going back. Besides, god only knows what she'd been telling these people for the past ten minutes.

 

Her mom leans back in her chair, folds one leg over the other and her arms against her chest. Arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Lexa, yes. You need to get out more, meet people. _Costia_ was your last major relationship. Now she's getting married and where are you?”

 

The girl is trying to hide her smile behind her champagne glass, but her eyes are sparkling so bright it's making Lexa feel a bit dizzy, a bit unsteady. “I have friends I care about, a career that's showing great potential, a—”

 

Her mom cuts her off before she can get any further, “—a five-year dry spell.”

 

Lexa opens her mouth to respond, then closes it. She doesn't dare look at the girl now, because as much as she'd fully intended on flirting with this beautiful woman and maybe even taking her home, her chances of that sure got shot to hell by this conversation. “I was single, Mom. Not celibate.”

 

Luckily, she's saved. Because her other mother comes swooping in with one of her good friends at her side, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to her wife's lips. The man goes to stand with a hand on the older woman's shoulder. “Anya, are you trying to pimp out our daughter to our friends' children again?”

 

Anya's face tightens into one of deep offense. “Yes, but this one's rich _and_ pretty.”

 

Lexa's mother rolls her eyes. “Mom of the year, you.”

 

Anya nudges at her wife with her shoulder. “Quit being such a spoilsport, Indra.” She smirks devilishly at her, sliding a hand around Indra's waist, under the band of her dress pants. When she speaks again, her voice is low and seductive. “We used to have a lot of fun with pretty rich girls ourselves.”

 

“They're distracted, now's our chance to slip away.” The voice is soft and playful and much closer to Lexa than she'd realized.

 

But then again, she'd been pretty distracted by staring slack-jawed at her parents groping each other at her best friend's wedding, so. Ya know. She can give herself a little leeway on that one. She looks up and finds Clarke shoulder to shoulder with her, eyes sparkling again in a way that lends itself so easily to metaphor—blue like the rippling surface of the sea on a cloudless day, like the glint of sunlight off of ice.

 

Lexa nods, takes the stranger's hand, and takes off toward the doors. They head out to the grassy field that held the ceremony: feet pounding, hearts hammering, sweat making their palms slippery where they're still connected; past the chairs, past the altar, past stunned guests out for a cigarette break. In fact, they don't stop running until they make it into the little copse of trees on the property line, and Clarke slows, pulling on Lexa's hand, slowing her to a stop and turning her so they're face to face. Clarke is windswept and breathless, somehow even more gorgeous like this than she was composed and playful earlier, hunching over with her hands on her knees. Lexa leans back against a tree, then slides down to sit and catch her breath with her head hanging between her knees, little chuckles still managing to shudder out. Clarke joins her against the wide trunk, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with her, both of their legs stretched out and hovering in a tense, questioning dance near one another. They don't know one another at all, and it should be sort of weird that this feels so normal, like they've been sitting like this for years, running away from their responsibilities hand-in-hand for years, pulled together by some palpable something that neither can define.

 

“So, the bride's your ex, huh?” Clarke asks, smile wide and genuine and, really, if she doesn't stop smiling at her like that soon, Lexa might not ever be able to breathe normally again.

 

“Unfortunately.” Lexa quips back, resting her head back against the tree trunk but unable to take her eyes off of Clarke. There's an energy passing between them, through the thin fabric of Lexa's button-up, the heat from Clarke's shoulder seeping into her and igniting like gasoline to her fire.

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow, a hand coming up to play with the necklace resting just above the dip of her cleavage. “Bad breakup?”

 

Lexa shakes her head, lets her eyes travel down to the nimble grace of Clarke's fingers as they spin the small pendant and she's pretty sure she's going to have to throw out these underwear by the end of the night whether the girl takes her home or not. “No, she's great. My best friend. I assume you're a friend of the groom's then, since I haven't met you yet.”

 

Clarke shifts, 'accidentally' rubs her leg along the length of Lexa's, turns her body on its side a bit as if she's about to cuddle up to her. And if Lexa didn't know better, she'd say some of the blue in her eyes disappeared, that her lids had fallen a bit fuller and heavier over them. “Yeah, you could say that.” She chuckles, bites her lip, looks down to the ground then back up through her eyelashes. “Finn and I dated actually.”

 

Lexa can't help but laugh, because it's _perfect_. Clarke's perfect, and the smell of the trees, the sounds of birds and squirrels and the distant laughter and chatter from the party, their shared joy and sadness: it's all perfect. She wants to stay here forever. “Really? Now, what are the chances of that? How long were you two together?”

 

Clarke shrugs non-chalantly. “Not long. He cheated on his high school girlfriend with me, actually.” Lexa's face must take a turn for the sour, because Clarke is quick to follow up. “He's a good guy, don't worry. He would never do that to Costia. It was just… unique circumstances.” She shifts, turns her body back to how they were sitting initially—still touching, but with Clarke not turned toward Lexa anymore. Her hands drop into her lap and she looks down at them. “We worked together, got close. One night, he and I got wasted and he admitted that he and Raven weren't having sex anymore, and things between us just—just _happened._ ” Lexa swallows, reaches out a hand to cover Clarke's because there's something tangible and sad about the story that makes her heart crack open. “I felt so terrible, even though he said he wanted to leave her to be with me. I couldn't, not after that. It wasn't right.”

 

Clarke turns her hand so that it's palm-up and intertwined with Lexa's. “So, that's my heartbreak story. Let's hear yours.”

 

Lexa shakes her head and moves to pull her hand back, but Clarke's grip stays strong. Lexa hadn't really wanted to stop touching her, but it still felt weird to talk about her relationship with Costia while holding another woman's hand. She doesn't try to move it again, though, tries to force herself accustomed to the feeling.

  
“Our parents were friends, we'd been best friends since we were born.” She can feel a sort of panic and rage struggle to take over her heart and she suppresses it as best she can with a swallow. “I realized I was in love with her when I was in middle school, and she said she felt the same.” She shrugs, “I think she believed it at the time. We were just kids. But when we were eighteen, she broke up with me. Said she'd thought she was gay, but that she didn't think she actually was. She said our parents being gay had made her feel like she should be, that she was always taught sexuality was fluid, but she didn't think hers was.” Her hand tightens in Clarke's and Clarke squeezes back equally.

 

“That sounds hard.” Clarke says softly, reaching up to brush a lock of her own hair behind her ear, and Lexa doesn't know whether to be grateful or upset because she can see Clarke's face perfectly now. She can see Clarke's face and suddenly Costia leaving doesn't feel quite so heavy.

 

“It was.” Lexa's voice comes out a bit more affected than she wanted, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Anyway, it took a few years, but we got back to normal. She was too important to let go because she didn't want to have sex with me.”

 

“I like that.” Clarke smiles. “Still, you deserve better. I don't know you that well, but I think you're incredible.”

 

“You're pretty amazing, too.” Lexa says, a little out of breath, and then they're smiling softly at each other, and it's so gentle, so intimate. Like this copse of trees is really a forest grown just for the two of them.

 

Lexa's eyes dip down to Clarke's lips, to the way they're slightly parted, to the way they're so smooth and stained red with lipstick and Lexa wants to taste them, she can't help herself. She's being pulled forward, and Clarke isn't pulling away, and there's a rush of excitement at that, at the way Clarke is just sitting there, waiting for her. She nudges her nose against Clarke's, just to be sure, and Clarke chuckles and pushes back playfully with her own.

 

“There you are!” The voice makes Lexa jump back, like a kid getting caught sneaking sweets by their parents. Costia drapes herself across Lexa's lap, lounging and throwing the back of her hand against her forehead. “I was so lost without you, darling!”

 

Lexa lets out a shaky breath and puts on the best smile she can manage before nudging at Costia's rib with her knee. “Whatever, loser. Get up, you're heavy.”

 

“Rude!” Costia says, rolling off her anyway and settling on the other side of her instead, leaning her head on her shoulder. “You don't get to call me fat on my wedding day. It's, like, a law or something.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, gets ready to respond, but Clarke beats her to it. “I should probably get back inside. My mom will be wondering where I've been.” She stands and starts brushing dirt and dead leaves off her dress.

 

Lexa feels all the excitement and emptiness suck out into the air around them, like debris into space, and all that's left is a thick layer of panic. “No, wait. I'll come with you.”

 

“No, no. That's okay. Hang out with your friend. It's her special day.” Her smile isn't the one Lexa had suddenly and instantaneously fallen in love with, it was thin and on the verge of breaking any second. “It was nice to see you again, Costia.”

 

Costia grins back at her, waves with her fingers. “You, too.”

 

Lexa licks at her lips, disappointment ripping a hole into her gut. Costia shoves at her arm. “Hey, pouty pants. What's the matter?”

 

Lexa shakes her head. She shouldn't be this sad about Clarke leaving. After all, they hardly know each other. She's still a stranger, really. She doesn't know what she does or what kind of food she likes, nothing that a person could build a relationship on. “Nothing.”

 

“Oh, come on, Lex. I know you better than that.” Costia grabs her by the chin and forces Lexa to face her. “Did I interrupt something?”

 

It's Costia's wedding, Lexa reminds herself. She shouldn't make it about herself. There's plenty of time left to talk to Clarke again. And, failing that, always plenty of fish in the sea. “No. It's fine. Really.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, I've been looking all over for you.” Lexa sidles up at the bar next to Clarke, who is ostensibly there waiting for the bartender to stop flirting with the group of girls he's serving at the other end and notice her. Though, Lexa for the life of her can't understand how anyone could manage to _not_ notice her.

 

Clarke smiles weakly back at her. “Hey, sorry. I figured you'd want to hang out with Costia, so I was trying to stay out of the way.”

 

Lexa starts to lift a hand to touch Clarke's arm, but before it can get there she thinks better of it and drops it back to her side. There's something standoffish between them now, a stark contrast to the heat that had been simmering between them earlier. Clarke's sparkle, her flirtation, is gone, replaced with the kind of attention you'd give a coworker you don't particularly care for. “I'm sorry about Costia. She's oblivious when it comes to this sort of thing.”

 

Clarke flicks her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, her smile gone, her eyes cold. “And what sort of thing is that?”

 

Lexa falters. Clarke _had_ been flirting with her, right? They had almost kissed, hadn't they? Had she somehow misread that situation? The rejection hits her hard in the chest, and she can feel tears moisten in her eyes. It's stupid, Lexa doesn't cry, damn it. But she is. Is about to. It's just disappointment, she tells herself. Nothing more. Nobody likes being rejected. She turns to go, but a warm hand on her arm stops her.

  
“Wait.” Clarke says, then lets out a slow, shaky exhale. Lexa turns back to face her, and sees that her icy facade has cracked, leaving something equally as dejected and disappointed as Lexa feels. “It's obvious you're not over her,” she continues, “and I don't want to be just a distraction for you.”

 

“You're not.” The words gush out of Lexa, and this time when her hands raise to take Clarke's tenderly in them, she doesn't stop herself. And Clarke doesn't stop her, either, wrapping her long fingers around Lexa's palms, fitting her own into the spaces between Lexa's thumbs and forefingers. “I am over her, Clarke. Let me prove it.” She feels the corner of her mouth lift into a half-smile. She starts to walk backward, keeping her grip on Clarke's hands, pulling her along with her. “Dance with me.”

 

Clarke bites at her lip and looks away to hide the smile growing on her cheeks, but doesn't let go, doesn't stop Lexa from leading her to the dance floor. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke's hips and Clarke rests hers atop Lexa's shoulders, and they're close but not too close. There's still something tentative about their interactions, this truce they've formed—nerve-wracking like a first date at a high school dance. The song isn't slow and it isn't sexy, but they're swaying together close enough to hear one another over the beat.

  
“So, what exactly do you do for a living, Ms. Successful?” Clarke teases, a hand tangling into the curly hair draping itself down Lexa's back.

 

Lexa hums her approval, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Clarke's hands on her again. “I'm a musician.”

 

“Ooh.” Clarke's tone is still teasing, though there's a hint of something under it that makes Lexa think she may actually be impressed by that answer. “Are you in a band?”

 

Lexa laughs, and tells the truth. “Lots of them, unofficially.”

 

“Are you always this cryptic?”

 

Lexa decides to skip over Clarke's teasing and go straight for an explanation. “I work for a label. So, whenever a band layers guitar tracks on their albums but doesn't have enough guitar players to actually play the songs live, they send me on tour with them.” The reminder of tour sends an aching note through her; she'll have to leave for another one soon. For the first time, the idea of traveling the world playing music doesn't really appeal to her. She wants to be here, like this, wrapped in Clarke's arms for the foreseeable future.

 

“Sounds exciting.” Clarke tightens her grip around Lexa's neck, pulling her a little closer.

 

“It is.” Lexa sucks her lips into her mouth, considers her next move. “Though, the label just offered me a gig recording instead of playing live, which would mean I could stay here full-time, be near my family, keep my moms out of trouble.”

 

Clarke chuckles. “Good luck with that. Especially now that my mom is dating Kane. Something tells me he and Indra already get up to enough trouble on their own.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Oh, god. You don't know the half of it.”

 

Clarke laughs and rests her head against Lexa's shoulder. Her breath tickles Lexa's throat with every exhale, and there it is again: that molten, liquid ache in her torso that she's begun associating with having Clarke near. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I used to tell people I'm an artist, but I don't know. I guess I'm a CNA.”

 

Lexa pulls back a little so that Clarke has to lift her head off Lexa's shoulder and look at her. “You can be both.”

 

Clarke smiles wanly. “I'm only getting paid for one.” She swallows and looks away from Lexa's eyes and says, “Everyone in high school told me I was this incredible artist, and I believed them. Then I moved to New York.” She snorted. “I never meant to do the CNA thing long-term. I guess I just had big fish/small pond syndrome.”

 

Lexa doesn't usually follow her blind impulses but there's a yearning behind this one—to touch Clarke, to recapture the exhilaration of being seconds away from kissing her—that she can't fight. And besides, Clarke seems so sad that the impulse is at least half wanting to offer her some sort of comfort; the kind Lexa is terrible at giving with words. She presses her lips to the side of Clarke's head, against the hair behind her ear, taking in the gentle scent of lavender and chemical from her shampoo, the soft tickle of Clarke's hair under her lips. Clarke is pressed close enough to her now that she can feel the shiver that runs through her when she does it, and oh. This girl is going to be the death of her, she knows it.

 

“Just because people aren't paying you to do something doesn't mean you aren't good at it. Half of art is luck and the other half is connections.” She leans back and brushes a lock of hair out of Clarke's face. “The latter of which I have. I can introduce you to some of my friends, if you want?”

 

Clarke shakes her head. “You don't have to do that.”

 

Lexa smirks softly and damn near snorts out a chuckle—something between a laugh and a sigh and an exhale. “I'm not saying it'll be glamorous work, Clarke. It would probably start off as cover art for bands for exposure and almost no pay. But I've seen artists really take off from there.” Clarke opens her mouth to object again, but Lexa cuts her off. “Just think about it.”

 

The song ends and a new one begins—slow and old and syrupy—and Lexa freezes. She knows this song all too well. Blue Moon by Billie Holiday. Her and Costia's song. Or, well, okay. Not _their_ song, necessarily. Costia had always loved the old blues singers, and Lexa had loved this one in particular, and so she had always played it during dates, made sure to go out of her way to kiss Costia when it played. It was Costia's, and Lexa had made it theirs.

 

“Earth to Lexa?” Clarke says, shaking Lexa's shoulder a bit with her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You okay?”

  
Lexa shakes her head slightly, laughs, hopes it doesn't sound bitter. “Yeah, I'm just surprised. This was me and Costia's song when we were together.” Before Clarke has the chance to freak out, Lexa tightens her grip on Clarke's waist, pulling her as tight as she comfortably can against her, swaying their bodies to the beat, pressing their foreheads together. “I'm glad I'm dancing to it with you.”

 

Somehow, Clarke is looking up at her from under her eyelashes, even when they're so close, her gaze moving from one of Lexa's eyes to the other. “Has anyone ever told you you have gorgeous eyes?” She says softly, and Lexa swears she can feel Clarke's chin dip forward as she does, bringing their lips closer together.

 

Lexa smiles. “Yes.” She starts to lean in the rest of the way, hesitates, says instead, “but it means much more coming from you.”

 

“Oh? And why's that?” Clarke's swaying has turned into something more like a subtle grind against Lexa's body and the ache of want in Lexa is sharp, consuming.

 

“Because you're an artist.”

 

Clarke shakes her head and her hands tangle in Lexa's hair, and the last thing Lexa hears before the rest of the world melts away from the feeling of Clarke's lips on hers is “shut up and kiss me, will you?”

 

Clarke's lips are perfect. Soft and teasing and pliant and sweet, eager to match Lexa's pace, yet willing to take the lead on occasion. The only word Lexa can think is perfect perfect perfect. They pull back and Clarke's grinning and so is Lexa and Clarke's nudging at her nose and giggling and Lexa can't remember the last time she was so utterly smitten with someone. Her chest is full with it, heavy and weightless at the same time. She's addicted.

 

“Hey, guys. Mind if I cut in?”

 

Clarke pulls back from Lexa, completely unwraps herself from Lexa's limbs and stares incredulously at Costia. “Are you fucking serious?”

 

Costia raises her eyebrows, the picture of innocent shock. “What?”

 

Clarke just scoffs and shakes her head. “Nothing, never mind. By all means.” She sweeps her arms dramatically toward Lexa then stalks off in the direction of the bar again.

 

Lexa sighs, shuts her eyes tight and attempts to rub away the burgeoning headache in the center of her forehead. “Why are you doing this, CC?” She mutters, not opening her eyes to look at her, just rubbing, rubbing at that persistent damn throbbing.

 

“Doing what? Our song is playing, I wanted to dance with you to it.” She touches Lexa's arm, stroking at it with her thumb. Lexa can feel her move closer to her. “I know you're into her, but it's my wedding, I just thought—”

 

“No.” Lexa finally opens her eyes, the throb bursting in a flash of fire in them. She pulls her arm away and steps back. “Enough with that. I'm tired of it, why do you keep doing this?”

 

“Doing what?”

 

Lexa licks at her lips in frustration and looks up at the ceiling to stem her tears of frustration. “You know what. Every time I like someone, every time I try to get close to them, you insist on meeting them and get clingy and touchy with me in front of them. It's not fair.”

 

“Clingy?” Costia scoffs. She shakes her head, raises her hands up defensively. “I can't believe this. I'm always touchy with you, Lex. You're my best friend. If they're too jealous to handle that, it's not my fault.”

 

Lexa just shakes her head sadly, barks out “why can't you just let me be happy?”

 

Costia is silent for a second, eyes glistening and sweeping over Lexa's face, her slouched shoulders. Her hands drop to rest on her stomach. “I don't want to lose you.” She says quietly. “I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.”

 

Lexa looks back up at her, brow furrowed, mouth twisted in a tight frown. “You're not going to lose me, CC, but it's not fair for you to do this. Do you understand that?” She takes a step forward, grabs her by the arms, and dips her head down to force her friend to look her in the eye. “You can't keep me waiting in the wings as a surrogate partner when Finn's not available. That's not fair to me. You can't touch me like a partner when you feel like it, you can't kiss me when you're drunk like it doesn't mean anything. You may not be gay, Costia, but I am.” She points to her chest, to her heart, “I am, and I—I _like_ Clarke.” Her voice cracks and she shakes her head as if it will help clear the emotion from her throat. “A lot. That's already scary enough, I don't need you disapproving and interfering and making it harder.”

 

Costia nods, meets Lexa's eyes voluntarily and steadily. There's a single tear track on her cheek, and Lexa resists the urge to wipe it away. “Okay. You're right.” A small smile, an olive branch. “So what do we have to do to get you the girl?”

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa waits nervously, fidgeting with her own hands, running through a checklist of everything in her head. Bottle of champagne? Check. Lights? Check. Makeup on point? Check. Music? Check. Now all she needs is Clarke. She takes a few deep breaths, checks her watch, takes a few more. It shouldn't be taking this long, should it? She should be here by now. She checks her phone. No messages. It takes as long as it takes, she tells herself. Clarke is willful. Convincing her won't be easy.

 

Finally she hears the crunch of footsteps in the forest coming toward her, sees Abby's face first, then she steps aside and there's Clarke. Clarke's face goes from neutral to surprise to irritation in one second flat, and she immediately turns to walk away. Lexa jolts forward, but she's much too far to reach Clarke before Abby does.

 

“Oh, no you don't.” Abby scolds, grabbing Clarke by the arm and dragging her back into the trees, back toward Lexa. “Stay. Talk. Don't be stubborn.” She shoots an encouraging smile at Lexa, then heads back toward the building.

  
“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa says, her nerves buzzing much louder than they'd been before Clarke appeared.

 

Clarke just looks at her with an arched eyebrow and a cocked hip, waiting. She looks gorgeous even angry like this, in the dim light of the fairy lights they'd strung into the trees. Lexa takes a step forward, reaching for Clarke's hand, but Clarke just takes a step back. Lexa sighs and drops her arms back to her sides.

 

“You want to talk, talk.” Clarke's voice is flat, totally unaffected. It's a lie, one Lexa is stung by but can still see right through.

 

Lexa sucks her lips into her mouth and bites at them, the speech she'd prepared in her head while she waited for Clarke disappearing into thin air in her mind. She lets her lips back out, swallows, and tries. Last chance, Lexa. Don't blow it. “Costia and I have known each other a long time.” She says, and Clarke rolls her eyes, but she keeps talking, softly, trying not to spook her, send her running back to the safety of the party. She's put too much effort into this for that. “She was jealous. But I talked to her. She even helped set all this up.” She says, motioning to the speakers and the lights in the trees and the champagne chilling in a bucket on a small table and chairs set up behind her. “Apparently no one can argue with a woman crying in a wedding dress.” She adds, chuckling. Clarke doesn't laugh with her. She presses on. “But she also doesn't matter. I know I haven't known you very long, but I'd like to.” She clears her throat, straightens her spine. “Know you, that is.”

 

Clarke raises her other eyebrow, unimpressed. “That's your big, romantic speech?”

 

Lexa shrugs. Nods.

  
Clarke sighs, looks down to her feet which are kicking the dead leaves on the ground around aimlessly. “You're terrible at this grand romantic gesture thing.”

 

“I know.” Lexa replies, trying to keep herself steady despite the shake in her hands and knees.

 

Clarke looks back up at Lexa: waiting with an eager, hopeful sort of reservation like she fully expects Clarke to crush her and is just waiting for the blow. She shouldn't blame Lexa for Costia, she knows that. But she can't be in a relationship with someone who will always have one foot out the door, either. Been there, done that, not a fan.

 

“We'll work on it.” She says finally, and Lexa's eyes brighten into something hopeful, something excited. Clarke can't help but roll her eyes and smile at just how innocent this woman is—dark and mysterious and cynical and so so tenderhearted.

 

“So you forgive me?”

 

Clarke smiles, reaches out a hand that Lexa happily takes, happily lets pull her toward Clarke. “Yes, I forgive you. Now kiss me before your ex shows up again.”

 

“She won't.” Lexa promises, pressing herself against Clarke, stroking a thumb along her cheek.

 

“She better not.”

 

Their second kiss is even better than the first.

 

 

* * *

 

Anya, Abby, Indra, and Kane all sit on the deck overlooking the copse of trees, watching their children (and step-child) kiss sweetly through the breaks in the trees.

 

“Well. Looks like it's mission accomplished.” Abby says, raising her glass toward the middle of the table.

 

“To successfully meddling parents.” Indra adds, raising hers as well.

  
They all clink together with a resounding “hear, hear” by Kane and Anya.

 

There's a beat of silence as they all turn their attention back to the woods where they can just make out that Clarke is kneeling on one of the chairs. Kane cocks his head to the side, curious about what exactly she's doing, and where did Lexa go? When suddenly Clarke's head tips to the side and—oh. She's straddling her— _oh._ Kane blushes and clears his throat, turning his attention to picking at the confetti on the tabletop. Abby raises her eyebrows in shock and Indra just shakes her head quietly.

 

“Perhaps it's time for us to go back inside.” Indra says, and Kane and Abby quickly agree, shuffling to their feet and beginning to head back into the ballroom.

 

Only Anya lingers behind, watching them for another couple of seconds with a beaming grin on her face. “That's my girl.” She whispers to the silent evening air before turning and following her friends back to the party.

 

* * *

 

 

**Finn and Costia's Guest Book!**

_Please sign your name with a message for the happy couple!_

 

_Dear Costia,_

_Your blue moon has finally turned to gold. Good luck on this next chapter._

_p.s. I hope you realize you're still not getting out of being my gym buddy._

_Finn,_

_Hurt her and die._

_Love,_

_Lexa Woods_

_Dear Finn and Costia,_

_You two deserve each other. I hope you have a nice life._

_Sincerely,_

_Clarke Griffin_


End file.
